


Waking

by Val_Creative



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, Dream Sex, F/M, Force Sex (Star Wars), Implied/Referenced Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-16
Updated: 2016-09-16
Packaged: 2018-08-15 10:10:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 640
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8052310
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Val_Creative/pseuds/Val_Creative
Summary: She knows D'Qar well enough for its climate outside the Resistance base. Stormy, warmer temperatures — nothing like the tropic sea air, like a sharp-tang on the surface of her tongue. "You've heard it, haven't you," Master Skywalker says aloud, as if whispering a secretive notion. She imagines his face, hardened with age and memories. Grim as ever. "The call."





	Waking

**Author's Note:**

> Back in November of last year, I found this prompt on the tfa_kink meme: "[Rey/Any - force sex dreams. Rey has sex dreams about someone and because of the force, that person gets the same dreams. No huge preference for pairing, but bonus for Poe or Finn (or both) and extra special bonus and love for Luke because I am dirty trash.](https://tfa-kink.dreamwidth.org/1082.html?thread=270394#cmt270394)" AND AS SOON AS I READ LUKE, I KNEW I HAD TO TRY IT. I DIDN'T EVEN THINK THEY WERE RELATED BACK THEN. You can interpret if they are in this fic or not - it's up to you!
> 
> DEANONED!

 

 

It doesn't make sense.

She knows D'Qar well enough for its climate outside the Resistance base. Stormy, warmer temperatures — nothing like the tropic sea air, like a sharp-tang on the surface of her tongue and salty, and _freezing_.

There's a rocky, mountainous cliff-side Rey stands upon, her bare feet treading on small, wind-smoothed pebbles.

Another impossibly cold breeze whips up her uncoiled hair and her clothes. She's never _owned_ a dress — not like this, layered in silky soft material and a transparent blueish-lavender. Rey can see every inch of herself, every curve, every bump, ever scar, and yet she's content with this. Calm.

Only a moment, just a moment, but she senses another person coming to her side, listening to the noise of their deepening breathing matching hers.

Rey eyes the distance, the pale foaming of the ocean below.

"You've heard it, haven't you," Master Skywalker says aloud, as if whispering a secretive notion. She imagines his face, hardened with age and memories. Grim as ever.

"The _call_."

Words form like cannon-fire inside her mouth.

_Yes, Master._

Her skirts drifts along his woolen, brown robes, hovering together as they turn and face each other. Rey feels his solemn gaze drift as well, from her neck, following down the view of her tiny breasts, and further down still. Her skin grows rosy, heated with a strange and _longing_ emotion. It travels her upper arms and to Rey's face, crawling between her legs and throbbing there like a pulsing heartbeat.

"You are dreaming," he observes without hesitation, a featureless smile on his lips.

Rey nods.

_So are you._

Her response provides uncertainty clouding her. _Is_ this a dream?…

Perhaps it is, perhaps it isn't. Master Skywalker would tell her to clear her mind, and to figurine it out on her own.

But it's _difficult_ — when he steps closer, and Rey's fingers betray her, _touching_ him. Her entire being seeks him out, vibrating the teeniest bit. Her mouth opening a little against his, and Rey's never kissed another person in any galaxy, or allowed herself to be held in someone else's arms.

The ocean rages in her ears.

Rey groans out, swallowed up in the crashing waves, her eyes shut furiously.

Master Skywalker's hands urge along the length of her body, over her buttocks and hips covered in that sheer dress — and she's so _lost_ in the immediate quickness and taste of salt flooding in his mouth, that it barely registers they're indoors. He's without his threadbare, dirty robe.

The walls are clay, _warm_ and rigid to her back where Rey is held fast, legs wrapping herself steady to him. He cries out softly, as if twisting a dagger in his chest, his thighs quivering against hers. It must be a dream — so _sweetly_ , vibrantly swirling in muted, shadowy colors. Rey thrusts up against him, feeling uncoordinated and impatient and whimpering in frustration, with dampness gathering on her nape and collar.

Outside of their kaleidoscopic world, she hears Master Skywalker cry out in his sleep, all the way down the corridor.

Rey joins him, tossing her head back and _clenching_ as he slowly drives himself in.

 

 

She wakes, _clenching_ her jaw, flinging herself upright and panting. Her lips swollen and bitten red.

Rey looks down, palming over her vest and rest of her clothes she arrived in, palming between her under-clothes.

 _Damp_.

No blood, no sexual fluid but her own.

Rey licks and wipes at her perspiring mouth with the back of her arm, mind racing. She bows her head towards her lap. Ignoring the creaking of footsteps passing by her temporary bedroom, before they vanish entirely.

 

 

_Luke Skywalker._

Her blood screams joyously in her veins, and she accepts the knowledge fluttering in her stomach, building up.

She will be a Jedi, just as her father before her, and his father before him.

 

 


End file.
